


Wake Me

by crna_macka



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Griffins, F/F, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 04:26:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3555974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crna_macka/pseuds/crna_macka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She barely noticed the young woman on her initial pass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wake Me

**Author's Note:**

> _Prompt: you jog shirtless past my house every morning AU_

Abby wakes up early every morning, a few hours after Clarke goes to bed and a couple hours before the shops open in town. This is her routine when they are on the coast for the summer: roll out of the too-big too-empty bed, squint against the overhead light in the bathroom, linger in the kitchen listening to the coffee brew, close the sliding glass door quietly behind her and breathe deep.

At this point, the sky is lightening but the sun has not yet edged the water. The air is heavy and salty and just cool enough to allow her to keep the fraying cotton button-front draped over her bare shoulders. It doesn't smell like Jake anymore, but sometimes she can imagine there is a hint, just a loosed molecule or two, lingering among the fibers.

The two of them used to go down to the surf - if they managed to leave the bed in time to make it for sunrise. Clarke never joined them; not a morning person. Barely functional before noon these days, well into her role as a first year college student.

Alone, Abby simply sits on the deck, cradled by the rope swing overlooking the beach. A little further north, there are wild horses. A little further south, there are more sleepy neighborhoods. Sometimes the beach patrol hums by on their four-wheelers. Sometimes there are couples dipping their toes into the surf, or pet owners out walking their dogs. Sometimes there are runners, gluttons for punishment; since it's not unusual, she isn't sure why this one catches her eye.

She barely noticed the young woman on her initial pass. Too engaged in judging the temperature of her drink and tracking the sun's upward crest, parting the sparse clouds. For the return leg, the sun is well up and Abby has settled into sipping her coffee, presently the most perfect degree of drinkability.

The jogger wears all black - in as little as she's wearing. Sports bra, shorts. The revealed physique speaks to a greater workout routine. Although her calves and quads are more defined than her arms, the light catches just right on her stomach and obliques. Abby has stayed lean over the years, but she does miss having the time and energy to dedicate to a greater level of fitness.

She remains on the deck, facing the eastern sky, until her cup is empty.

* * *

The Griffins' beach house is on the runner's regular route, but she doesn't seem to notice Abby until one breezy morning when she is standing at the top of the stairs leading from private property to the sands below. Sometimes Abby considers the possibility of descending all the way to the tide's edge, but she has yet to set foot on the earth so early in the morning this year.

Still, that's what she's thinking about when the woman arcs her path a little closer to the dunes and waves at Abby on her way past. Abby smiles but barely manages to free her hand from her mug before the moment is gone.

That's okay, she thinks. She'll wave to the stranger on her return.

* * *

It's not always clear whether the sunrise will be visible. There are days when the clouds seem to cluster particularly in the sun's path, and there are days when the clouds seem to cover the whole sky but part just ahead of the leading rays of light.

Abby finds herself lingering regardless. Idle curiosity. Idle everything, really; there are few other things to occupy her time at this hour. The rasp of the ocean and occasional bird call are meditative. Later she might go to the beach and read, or go to the shops and browse, or walk to the lighthouse and - 

But then a familiar gait catches her eye, and when the figure is close enough, Abby waves and call out, "Good morning."

The young woman flashes her an easy grin and casual, "Hey."

Even though the cloud cover hides the sun's ascent from the horizon, the sky is bright and clearing on the woman's return. She slows to a lope when she's still yards away and steadies herself with pacing a swath in the sand below the Griffins' overlook. 

"Not a lot of familiar faces out this morning," she observes, hands on her hips as she measures her breaths.

"There was a chance of rain, I think," Abby says.

"Fair weather fans." The woman huffs out a laugh. Her pacing is slowing. "I'm Raven, by the way."

"Abby." Abby leans over the rail, and Raven is grinning as she reaches up to shake the extended hand. She has a strong grip, surprisingly calloused fingers and palms. And warm skin, the pulse so close to the surface.

Her grin goes crooked at the accidental tug when Abby starts withdrawing from the handshake before Raven has let go. "Figured if I'm going to see you every morning I might as well introduce myself before your vacation's up. Time flies."

"You're local?" Abby asks, surprised. She doesn't remember the woman from summers past.

"Seasonal. I've got friends that are local." Raven shrugs. "You gone this weekend, or you got another week?"

"Another week," Abby says, bemused at the question. 

"So I'll see you around," Raven says, smile growing wide again as she backs away from the stairs.

"Yeah..." Abby just trails off, letting herself watch as Raven returns to her run, from the easy lope to her usual pace that carries her out of sight.

* * *

"Another week" isn't technically the whole truth. Abby will return inland to go back to work, but Clarke will stay and Abby will come back occasionally, for a day or two. She'll definitely overlap one of those brief visits with Thelonious' time off in July, and she'll likely come back on Labor Day weekend after the children have returned to their respective schools.

She doesn't clarify that to Raven, though. The next day, the woman has a companion on her run, a shorter dark-haired girl with a wild tattoo crawling over her ribs. Raven still waves, but doesn't break stride.

The day after that, the two women are joined by a muscular man with a shaved head. He is easily taller than Raven and seems quite comfortable with the girls' pace, his breathing hardly labored. Military? Abby wonders. He seems too large, too sculpted to be with the coast guard.

Unexpectedly, Clarke joins her before the trio makes their second pass. She curls sleepily at her mother's side and rests her head on her shoulder. 

"You're up early," Abby observes, letting her daughter take the nearly empty mug from her hands. Clarke hums in agreement then covers a yawn.

"Too early. Wells called. Rude."

Abby keeps her chuckle to herself. 

Time stretches and the three runners follow the sun down the shoreline. Abby feels Clarke perk up slightly.

"Wow."

Abby suppresses a smile and raises an eyebrow at the utterance.

"Nice view," Clarke adds when they are gone. 

She definitely sounds more awake.


	2. Old Ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fic is well-received, conversation happens, readers get an unexpected chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you probably expected, this chapter implies underage drinking (by American standards), which is illegal. Because there are preexisting "house rules," there is no in-text discussion regarding this. It's an explicit narrative choice on my part; Abby and Thelonious aren't idiots.

"Home" is coffee and cereal at the island in the kitchen, scrolling through emails and listening to NPR, barefoot on the tile and draped in a flimsy, silky robe, already thinking ahead to the day's work.

"Work" is mostly days at the family practice, sprinkled with the occasional shift at the women's center. It's her calling, but it's still work. It still wears her down sometimes, despite the rewards. Once a week, she comes home and has a glass of wine in the bath, reads some McCall Smith or Munro, and sleeps in the middle of her queen-sized bed, window open and arms curled around a pillow.

Wells has joined her at the beach house, Clarke relays in Abby's first week back home. They're having some friends over. Thelo came one weekend with his current troop of disciples; Clarke and Wells roll their eyes at the amount of fledgling academic ego that saturates the living room. 

Abby chuckles, remembering the way Jake and Thelonious would spend so many evenings lounging on the deck, deconstructing the world just for fun, just to see if they could put it back together again.

She does miss it, but she has no interest in listening to the professor's latest lecture series.

Of course, Clarke warns her that some of those scruffy young men have stuck around the house with Thelonious' blessing. She is either out more with friends or makes sure to invite them around the house when Thelo's boys are particularly unbearable. 

"Wells nearly lost it the other day," Clarke says. It's rare for the Jaha boy to actually lose his temper. "Lincoln had to hold him back."

She sounds impressed, so Abby asks, "Who's Lincoln?"

"Octavia's boyfriend," Clarke says, although Abby has trouble placing who that is, too. "He's sweet. You'll like him."

Abby isn't sure how to take that, but it seems as though she will be meeting Clarke's new friends next time she's at the house. "I'll have a talk with Thelonious."

* * *

She forgoes an evening of relaxation to drive to the shore, wanting nothing more than to wake up in the morning without a single task ahead of her. She drives with the windows down, her hand coasting on the rushing air currents like a gull in the twilight. She's exhausted by the time she arrives, but it feels so _good_ to breathe in the ocean air and walk through a door to something other than real-world worries.

Clarke is in the kitchen with a taller, serious-faced young man, clearly in the midst of replenishing snacks for the audible gathering at the pool in the backyard.

"Hey Mom!" Clarke calls in surprise.

Abby pauses just beyond the counter, smiling politely at her daughter's companion as she responds. "Hey. Decided there was no reason to wait until morning to get away from the grind. You guys keeping it clean around here?"

Clarke casts a glance at the sliding glass doors and laughs dryly. "Of course. Thelo came to collect his little bastards and they haven't been back."

"Clarke," Abby admonishes, giving her a pointed look. They both know she doesn't disagree, but that doesn't mean Clarke should be so crass.

"Oh!" Clarke changes the subject quickly and gestures to the man at her side. "Mom, this is Bellamy. Bell, this is my mom."

"Abby," she adds, nodding when Bellamy greets her and apologetically raises the dish of dip and two full cups that occupy his hands. 

"You want something to eat? There's a lot of leftovers in the fridge -"

Already half-turned toward the hallway to the bedrooms, Abby waves Clarke off. "I'm just going to pass out. Don't worry about me."

She's almost out of the room before it occurs to her to remind Clarke, "Make sure that everyone that's here either goes home now or stays the night."

"Already done," Clarke affirms. That's enough for Abby; she doesn't need to stick around for anyone's outside commentary.

* * *

In the barely-there predawn light, she pads silently past at least two bodies on her way to the kitchen. There is nothing she can do about the noise of the coffeemaker, but no one seems disturbed by it. 

Still, she elects to exit from the ground level instead of waking the kids with the doors right by their heads. There is little evidence of the poolside gathering beyond the stray towels, suits, and shorts strewn to dry - and completely full trash-bin. Wells, at least, knows how to clean up. Abby isn't so sure about Clarke.

There is nothing to stop her from backtracking, climbing the stairs to her swing on the upper deck, but she finds herself picking up a towel and turning her feet toward the beach without ever making a conscious decision.

Just beyond the surf's reach, she sits on one edge of the towel. It's an ingrained habit that she's done little to break. And maybe - just maybe - it's a subconscious wish that Jake _could_ be there with her. 

She scoffs against the lip of her mug, imagining Jake's gentle teasing over this. That Abby, who always played the practical one in their partnership, might indulge that such a wildly unrealistic fantasy.

Her reverie is broken when a warm body appears in the empty space.

"This is new," Raven says, already smiling broadly, even without Abby's acknowledgment. She doesn't look ready for a run, her dark hair loose and tousled, her ratty shirt and shorts a far cry from her typically clean-cut sportswear.

Abby pushes the unexpected pleasure down in favor of bemusement. "Where did you come from?"

Raven raises her eyebrows and sips her own coffee without answering -

And Abby recognizes the mug in her hand, the Andy Warhol print she's seen in her own cupboard countless times.

"Ah." She needs a few more seconds to process. Is that... disappointment settling on her chest? Or surprise? Some kind of resignation, with an aftertaste of jealousy?

"So you're Clarke's mom," Raven continues obliviously. "I didn't know when we first met in town. It took me, like, a whole day to figure out I was at your house when Clarke invited us over the first time. I miss seeing you on my morning runs."

Still off-balance, Abby just hums. She at least realizes she's staring and turns her gaze back toward the skyline. "She didn't mention," is all Abby manages to string together.

Raven's bare shoulder presses against her own briefly, heat seeping through the fabric and leaving a stark chill when it's gone.


	3. We Get By

They watch the sun come up in relative quiet. Raven sets her mug in the damp sand and leans back on her hands, easily comfortable in a way that Abby inevitably has to analyze. The girl is right, that the context is new. The proximity, the stillness. This isn't what Abby would expect from two weeks seeing each other only in passing, speaking briefly only a handful of times. But then, it's hard to account for Raven's presence at all, or the implication that she's familiar with a space that is Abby's, having been at the house during the weeks that Abby was away. 

It wouldn't matter with one of Thelonious' students or one of Clarke's other friends instead of Raven. Abby has no outside context for them the way she does for Raven - but then, Abby can't imagine any of them joining her down on the beach. Or herself allowing it.

She shakes her head, playing it off as though tossing back an errant lock of hair. With daylight, the temperature is already on the rise; she glances back past Raven at the house. "What time did you guys call it a night?"

"Around two, maybe?" Raven shrugs. "Later than usual."

"Early for Clarke," Abby says. "I guess I could wait another hour for breakfast."

Raven tilts her head to catch Abby's gaze. "Or we could go into town and grab something."

"Nothing's open yet," Abby reminds her. "And I'm not eating at Starbucks."

The younger woman is already rising to her feet and holding out a hand to help Abby up. "Nothing good is open to the _public_ yet. But I know a guy..." When Abby clasps her hand, Raven uses both to pull her to her feet. 

Raven is taller, Abby realizes. Then leans down to gather up her towel and mug. Her thinly veiled excuse to withdraw is ignored, with Raven less than half a step behind as they return to the private beach access.

"He's a baker. Well, an assistant to the head baker. If you like bagels and have never had one fresh out of the oven, you're in for a treat." Raven is careless with the way her body sways for balance as they tromp through dryer sand, her hand and elbow and arm brushing against Abby's more than once. "You're not anti-carb, are you? 

"No," Abby chuffs, amused at the thought.

They stop at the house only for shoes. Raven shakes her head and tugs at Abby's sleeve when she wants to go in to change. "Come on, timing is everything. Baker boy isn't going to care what you're wearing."

Abby lets herself be guided to the street. Stepping onto the pavement feels like being released from the sleepy bubble of the house. No need to step cautiously, to be careful of hushed tones. She isn't a loud person by nature, but the transition makes her less guarded.

"Have you given up on running?"

Raven laughs. "No way, just couldn't get to my running clothes today. That's okay, chased after you instead."

"Not much of a workout," Abby points out.

Raven gives her a sideways smile. "That's not why I run, though. Nice perk, but I'm more about that runner's high."

"But you _do_ work out." 

"Yeah," Raven acknowledges. "But have you seen who I hang out with?"

Abby remembers the young man and woman that have joined Raven on her morning jogs before. Raven might even include Bellamy in her circle... and then Abby thinks of her own daughter and has to chuckle. "Maybe you can pass some of that motivation along to Clarke and Wells."

Raven shakes her head in mock seriousness. "Already tried. They're allergic to gyms and that sweet morning air."

"Thanks for trying," Abby offers dryly. She expects they'll slip into a comfortable silence after that, but Raven segues into another topic.

"So how was your week?"

Abby's mind goes blank trying to think of any specifics that might be worth mentioning to the younger woman. 

"...that good, huh?"

"Not bad, just long. That's why I came back last night," Abby admits.

"Aww, and here I thought you missed our little one-on-ones," Raven teases.

Or flirts? 

Caught off-guard, Abby can only answer her grin with a smile. Raven laughs it off, nonchalant, but the exchange sticks with Abby all the way to the bakery and back.

* * *

By the time they get back to the house, the bodies in the living room have migrated to the kitchen and Bellamy, Clarke, and Wells have joined them. Clarke in particular looks like she is there against her will, eyes closed and head resting on the back of her chair. The better to properly display her pout.

Raven takes in the scene. "Linc and O go for their run?"

"They should be back soon," Bellamy says. His low voice has a current of sadness that Abby suspects to be permanent, or maybe even imagined, encouraged by his tousled curls and serious dark eyes.

Clarke makes a distressed noise as she opens her eyes to join in, but she starts when she notices Abby. "Mom! You weren't here when I woke up! And neither was the coffee."

Raven scoffs on her way out of the room and reaches to ruffle Clarke's barely-brushed hair. "That's 'cause I took it, Princess."

Clarke bats the offending hand away and sighs. "Ugh, that's _special_ coffee. That's _Mom-coffee_."

"Early bird or get burned," Raven singsongs as she disappears.

Abby takes their recovered mugs to the sink and smiles at the interplay. "I can make some more."

"Nuh uh!" Raven's disembodied voice rings out cheerfully.

Clarke shares the sentiment, although considerably less pleased with being left out. "It's not the same." 

Her disappointment is quickly waning, though, as her eyes dart from Abby to the hallway Raven disappeared down. Abby folds her arms over her chest, aiming for aloof when Clarke fixes her with questioningly raised eyebrows. She doesn't smile, but Abby can see it hiding under her expression. She huffs out a breath and raises a skeptical 'brow in response. Clarke spreads her fingers and looks away in subtle - if cheeky and insincere - concession.

"Anyone _else_ want coffee?" Abby asks the boys in the room, effectively ending the unspoken exchange with her daughter. She's not having this non-conversation with Clarke's new friends looking on.


	4. Come Let Go

By the time Abby is done in the shower and dressed, the house is quiet and still again, brightly lit from the uncovered windows. The young people have migrated to the beach, leaving the communal areas smelling of sunscreen and breakfast. She surveys the disaster on the counters before picking up the note Clarke left for her on the table - a grocery list with a smiley face “signature.” Abby chuckles and rolls her eyes at her own presumption. 

“Love you too,” she says dryly.

“They’ll do the dishes if you leave them for lunch.” The voice comes from behind her and registers as Raven only after Abby has jumped.

“Oh god,” Abby exhales, gathering herself. “I thought everyone was _gone_.”

The younger woman smiles and shrugs apologetically. “I mean, didn’t seem fair just abandoning you like that, especially if Clarke is just being a brat because I got to the coffee first.”

Abby turns away from Raven’s smirk to check the cupboards against the list, not trusting that Clarke’s list is complete. Her heartbeat, still racing from the surprise, starts to calm at the menial task. “The curse of the only child. She’ll always be Daddy’s little princess.”

Raven makes a vaguely amused, mostly non-committal noise behind her and backs off of the topic, leaving Abby feeling awkward in the silence. “I mean, she’s mine, too, but she and Jake were two peas in a pod. He could never deny her anything.”

“She seems to have that effect on men.”

Abby glances over her shoulder to get a quick read on the girl. “She seems to have that effect on everyone.”

Raven matches her raised eyebrow, maybe not realizing the shift in her own posture as she cocks her hip. “I say we rebel. Play hooky today.”

Abby almost laughs at the suggestion but turns to lean against the closed pantry and give Raven her full attention. There is certainly something intriguing about Raven’s easy affection for Clarke and the sly suggestion to undermine her implied orders. “We do need the groceries,” Abby points out.

Raven doesn’t back down. “Okay, we can do the responsible thing, but we do it on our terms.”

“‘We?’” Abby straightens away from the door and cants her head.

Raven folds her arms over her chest and grins. Abby feels like her response takes a beat too long. “Moral support. It was my idea; wouldn’t dream of letting you face this alone.”

* * *

"Do you trust me?” Raven asks when she offers to drive, and Abby thinks nothing of it until the jeep cruises past the Kroger through a green light and takes the fork that leads off the island. She isn’t sure what to say, and Raven beats her to it, anyway. "No worries, this is still grocery shopping.”

"Really," Abby says. "In the next county?”

“No. That's an idea though.” Raven shoots an appreciative grin her way. "You know all those farm stands you pass on your way in?”

"Peaches and peanuts,”Abby recalls, nodding.

''And produce, and other stuff," Raven confirms. "Shop local.”

It only takes half an hour to get off the island, although given that it's Saturday, it will take two or three times as long to get back. Abby refrains from pointing this out. She doesn't mind the excursion or the younger woman's good intentions, but she's tempted to ask if Raven had considered that she might have other plans for the day. It seems too disingenuous to be teasing, though. She had known she might have to go shopping today, and then she might lounge by the pool or do a generous amount of _nothing_ until dinner. Raven probably had actual plans with other people that she gave up for this. 

“Can I ask you a serious question?” the younger woman hedges, interrupting Abby’s reverie. “It’s really personal, but I feel like it’s important.” 

“I...” Abby’s mouth suddenly stops working, and her lungs barely seem capable of drawing a breath. Her brain jumps to terrible conclusions and her heart jumps to wild possibilities. All she can manage is jumbled hum of non-words that Raven mercifully cuts off.

“You know what, I’m just going to go for it. Have you ever had moonshine?”

She’s staring. Abby _knows_ she’s staring, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. Raven’s laughter isn’t cruel, but Abby is embarrassed at her own reaction nonetheless.

“Scandalous, I know,” Raven says with mock-regret. Her right hand leaves the wheel to pat Abby’s arm reassuringly. “But seriously, have you? Like, I know that very nice wine rack at the house isn’t Clarke’s, but I don’t want to presume you’re just a straight-up wine mom. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Abby?”

“Yes. No, I haven’t. Had moonshine.” Abby doesn’t have to force the laugh, but it sounds choked in her ears. She shakes her head and holds back from mentioning the absinthe. Co-ed exploits, long passed; she didn’t care much for the flavor. That was Thelo’s doing, anyway.

Raven’s glance is bemused, but she doesn’t let the hesitation deter her. “Well, if you’re not opposed, you should definitely try some. My treat.”

“Okay.”

Abby’s response surprises both of them. Raven’s face lights up, so blindingly pleased with the agreement that Abby has to look away. Even out of sight, though, Raven’s toothy grin is contagious.


	5. Downstream

The farm stands on the main highway are sometimes more like farm tents or sheds, large enough to accommodate a good number of crates and tables, but with enough chipped paint, weathered wood, and rusty metal to keep from being a proper grocer or even a respectable mom-and-pop store. Abby doesn't ask when they pass a number of these, heading steadily further from the bridge to the island, but Raven explains anyway, a nod and a sneer at the latest, adorned with yet another Confederate flag. “We’re going somewhere way more hospitable.”

They turn off the highway further down the road, passing a few weather-beaten houses and the prerequisite church before the fields open on either side, tomato plants curling their leaves at the midday heat. There is less salt in the air but no less humidity, and Abby almost regrets when the car starts to slow.

Dirt and gravel crunch under tires as Raven pulls into an unpaved lot framing a corrugated farmer’s market too big to simply be a stand. It’s surprisingly busy, bustling with more activity than the handful of parked cars would suggest. With the wind gone and dust settled, Abby lowers herself from the jeep and rakes fingers through her tousled hair. She follows close on the younger woman’s heels to wind among the tables. Pulp containers of all sizes fill the space, boasting an array of fruits and vegetables, stained with juices and flaunting all-natural imperfections. The sweet smell of warm, ripe fruit grows stronger despite the fans blowing in opposite corners - and Abby instinctively reaches to make even the slightest contact with her companion amid the bustle and near sensory overload.

Raven barely seems to notice. She passes Abby a cardboard tray and makes to excuse herself. “You have a list, right?” When Abby hesitates, she explains. “I have to see a woman about some backorder.”

 _Seriously?_ Abby thinks. It seems like a bit much just for some moonshine. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to stick to the list,” she admits.

Raven’s grin flashes past her indulgent smile. “I won’t be long, promise. She just doesn’t deal with tourists or strangers around. You browse and I’ll be back in a minute.”

 

* * *

 

It’s more like fifteen or twenty before Raven reappears at Abby’s side, and by that time, she’s already in line to pay. “Sorry,” the younger woman murmurs immediately, peering over Abby’s shoulder at her selections. “Had to sweet talk her into a better deal. Guess I’ve been away awhile.”

After Abby pays, Raven carries their bags out to the car, arranging them around a box (with matching print) that must hold the moonshine. They head back the way they came with Raven’s acquiescence that they’re better off getting the rest of their shopping done closer to the beach to keep it from spoiling while they sit in traffic. While they’re in that same traffic, Raven tries to get Abby to open up a little more, asking about work - “Anything but that. Work is off-limits at the beach.” - and then about what she does when she’s not at the beach house or - “...that other off-limits place.”

Abby chuckles and can’t shake the feeling that this mundane line of questioning is maybe, possibly motivated by more than just making conversation. There is a long-distant familiarity in the way Raven keeps taking her eyes off the road - when she can - and the way she’s... interested. There’s no better way that she can think of to describe it.

The idea is distracting. Bemusing. Not unwelcome, but by Abby’s estimation, unlikely.

“So how do you know the moonshine people?” she asks abruptly after one of her own answers, deflecting the attention back on Raven.

Raven laughs as though she knows exactly what motivated the turn in conversation. “Ms. Nygel. My mom knew her. I worked for her off and on when I was younger. She’s not real happy I’ve stuck with my job on the island, but if I didn’t have it, I wouldn’t be on the coast at all.”

“What is it you do?”

“I’m at the fix-it shop north of all the rental places? If it’s transport, we tinker with it. Except horses; the vet’s got a lock on that corner of the market.”

“Oh,” Abby says, trying not to smile. “Can’t imagine why.”

“Yeah, we’re very capable, but I guess ‘grease monkeys’ and ‘actual horses’ don’t mix.” The corner of Raven’s mouth turns in a smirk and Abby lets her own break through.

“A grease monkey, huh. My husband - Jake - was an engineer.”

She could swear that before answering, Raven licks her lips. “Looks like you’ve got a type.”

“Oh.”

Abby looks to the rear-view mirror to buy herself a moment, to maybe enjoy the little rush of blatant flirting, then lets herself laugh. “No, I think that much is just a happy coincidence.”

The burst of laughter from the driver’s seat is genuine and happy and not at all mocking. “You sure about that, Abby?”

Abby glances across the dash. “That it’s a coincidence?”

Raven’s tone softens to gentle teasing. “That it’s happy.”

Abby adjusts her sunglasses and futilely tucks some flyaways behind one ear. They’re getting into town now. Not much farther to the Kroger’s shopping plaza. And is she happy? It’s been a strange sort of day.

“Yeah,” she confirms. “It’s a pretty nice bonus, I think.”


	6. En Route

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Beagles for saving this from getting deleted AGAIN and delayed another six months. Without her, this fic would be in shambles.

It's afternoon by the time they get back to the house. Abby unlocks the front door to an empty stillness, the dishes done (as predicted), and the sunlight streaming in the unshaded windows. Raven follows her lead, depositing the grocery bags on the dining table then going back out for more. They make short enough work of that, but putting the food away is a slower process, especially since Abby insists that Raven should eat lunch while Abby finishes up.

“Won’t I be in the way?”

“I’ve spent twenty years dodging bodies at work and at home. If you’re not _trying_ to get in the way, it’s fine.”

Raven starts to respond then stops herself, grinning and holding her hands up in easy surrender. Abby narrows her eyes, but she chooses not to pursue the unspoken teasing and Raven swallows the cheeky humor for now. The methodical rhythm of storing groceries is a welcome distraction.

This is the part, Abby’s sure, where the younger woman will remember prior plans for the weekend, or realize how much of Saturday has slipped away, or be summoned by her friends... by Abby’s own daughter, even. The playful undercurrent of flirting that has been present all day will vanish. Abby feels her cheeks grow warm and is grateful that she kept busy. 

It’s an old habit to become so focused that the rest of the world fades to a blur, so Abby is surprised to finish and find the blinds drawn against the hot glare of the sun and Raven still at the table, sandwich only half-eaten. Looking at her, or the middle-distance between them.

For a moment, Abby doesn’t know what to do. So she looks back. Raven’s soft smile, sun-kissed skin. Boneless and muscular and still. An arm casually hooked over the back of the chair she’s slouched in. Hair mussed with the day’s drive. Lidded eyes brown and dark and warm and watching. Comfortable and content.

Abby breaks the spell. “Done with your plate?”

“No.” Raven shifts her posture and the world goes on spinning, out of repose. “Thought I’d wait for you.”

Abby starts to laugh but trails off in bemusement. “Oh, okay,” is all she can say. When Raven starts to rise, Abby turns to the kitchen to make something. Anything. A sandwich. 

In the grocery store, Raven had leaned over the handle of the cart, content to let Abby make her own selections. Now she leans over Abby, stretching to get a pair of glasses from the cupboard as Abby busies herself at the counter. 

“Sorry,” Abby says automatically, and Raven bumps gently against her hip.

“You’re fine.” The younger woman continues to the freezer, rescuing two of the bottles that she must have slipped in earlier. She splits one between the glasses, and its contents are an indeterminate orange; the moonshine, apparently. 

When Abby finally sits, there is a chair and a corner between them, which seems like the best balance of proximity. Still, the look Raven is giving her is a little too knowing. 

“Is this because of Clarke?” Raven asks.

Abby hesitates to touch her food. “...what?”

Both glasses are in front of Raven, and she doesn’t move to hand one over. “You seem uncomfortable. Is it because I started hanging out with Clarke?”

“No,” Abby says automatically. She’s surprised at the directness. “I’m not uncomfortable.”

Raven’s eyebrows shoot up. “ _Oh._ ”

“I’m working on a puzzle,” Abby hedges. “Maybe you can help.”

The crooked smile is back on Raven’s lips as she pushes one of the glasses in front of Abby’s plate. “I’m good at puzzles.”

 _I’ll bet you are_ , Abby doesn’t say, wrapping her fingers around the cool, smooth glass. She takes her time examining the liquid it contains, cataloging the visual properties before sniffing over the rim. It smells like... fruit. Sweetness. Peach and something else. Something intoxicating, she knows.

“This isn’t how you spend your weekends.”

“Nope,” Raven agrees. “Usually there’s a lot more sand and surf involved. Usually, you’re not here.”

The moonshine tastes like it smells, but it can’t completely mask the sharp kick of alcohol against the roof of Abby’s mouth and back of her throat. Her eyes water but to her credit, she doesn’t cough. And she doesn’t look for Raven’s reaction as the woman tilts her own glass to her lips.

“This isn’t how you spend your weekends either,” Raven points out.

“God, no.” A small chuckle slips out. “I mean, it is - the grocery shopping, lunch - but it isn’t. I usually spend weekends alone.”

Raven raises her eyebrows. “You’d tell me if I should go, right?”

Abby busies herself with her drink and considers. She knows the answer; she definitely would let someone know if she wanted her space. But that's not the case here. She’s intrigued, both with Raven and the circumstances. She wants Raven to stay, but she's hesitant to say _that_. As though admission would intimate far too much.

The moonshine goes down easier now. Abby has let the question get too serious in her head and hesitation. “You can stay if you want,” Abby says, glad to sound more coy than stilted. 

“Is that the puzzle?” Raven seems to be on the verge of laughing. “I wouldn’t stay if I didn’t want.”

Warm cheeks and a suddenly dizzy smile could easily be written off as the effects of the alcohol, but Abby is pretty sure it’s more about the deliberate way _want_ sounds in Raven’s mouth.

“I wouldn’t have driven you halfway to the next county,” Raven adds. “I really wouldn’t have bought Ms. Nygel’s moonshine and opened it right away when we got in.”

“About that,” Abby says, not missing the way Raven’s gaze turns expectant. “I thought you said you weren’t local. But you worked for her when you were younger. Your mother knew her.”

The woman’s eager expression had started to fall, but now she seems satisfied with the turn in conversation. Maybe even pleased. “You remember that? Man. Okay, yeah, she’s sort of a family friend. I helped her out with stuff when we were here, odd jobs for a few bucks, that sort of thing. Never really lived here.”

“Where _do_ you live when you’re not here?”

Raven smiles and wrinkles her nose. “You don’t talk about work when you’re here; I don’t talk about school.”

“Please tell me you’re not one of Thelo--”

“Oh, hell, no. Not even close,” Raven assures her, then quickly adds, “No offense, but from what your kids say...”

“They only exaggerate a little,” Abby chuckles. Or giggles, practically. The mostly empty glass in her hand has gone right to her head. She makes sure to set it down.

Raven nods to indicate their drinks. “What do you think? I know it’s not everyone’s thing. Your wines tend toward dry, but that doesn’t mean you wouldn’t be into schnapps... what?”

Abby shakes her head, but that doesn’t wipe the stupid smile off her face. “It’s good. A little too easy to drink once you get used to it. That’s part of why I prefer dry - you don’t mistake it for grape juice.”

“Oh,” Raven says, and Abby can see her weighing the assessment.

“I’ve had schnapps,” she comments. “And absinthe, in college, forever ago. It was banned then.”

Raven glances away, at Abby’s drink then at her own. “The school thing just... It’s misleading. I’m older than Clarke and Wells, you know? I’ve been on my own for years. But being a student automatically comes with this assumption of being so much younger and naive and _irresponsible_ , and it feels weird to think that’s how you’ll see me.”

Raven’s admission sinks in slowly through the orange-tinged laziness of the warm afternoon, but Abby has no trouble connecting with it immediately. Clarke, the unintentional pivot point for both of them; their personal doubts citing societal mores as reasons for rejection; this newfound vulnerability where Raven is openly nervous and asking Abby to confront the mirror image of the same concerns that have been plaguing her all day...

Abby starts to laugh, her amusement rasping as she shakes her head at them both - at culture, at the buzz of pseudo-intellectualism that intoxication brings - and leans across the table for the still-full bottle of moonshine. She refills her glass and pours the rest into Raven’s. And holding her drink out, she waits until Raven’s eyes meet her own again, curiosity keeping them bright.

“It’s Saturday,” Abby says, in both explanation and toast. “We already handled our responsibilities. We’re allowed to have this.”


	7. Follow the Sun

In the morning, everything feels heavy: Abby’s head, her eyelids, her gut; the emptiness of the king size bed, the thin sheet tangling her bare legs, the sound the private bath’s door makes when it opens. Raven’s smile is small and gentle, but Abby feels her very bones try to lurch out of sleep mode to get back to a normal reality. The kind where she isn’t hung over and suddenly aware that the covers are turned down next to her. 

“I’ll start coffee,” Raven says. Abby has already closed the bathroom door.

The way her head spins is enough to make her stomach drop nauseatingly. She doesn’t throw up, but she does definitely need to relieve herself and brush the scuzzy feeling from her mouth. And then - then she’ll piece it all together.

Moonshine, she remembers. Morning, afternoon, and evening spent with Raven. It’s the evening she’s worried about. Whatever happened that meant waking up to the younger woman in her room with all signs pointing to having shared the bed.

_“This is my room,” Raven informs her, grinning, as they stand in the doorway of the master bedroom. Abby squints._

_“Purely incidentally,” Raven clarifies, setting their bottles on the clearest bedside table. “Because it’s the quietest and I’m single and Clarke ‘does not want anyone banging in her parents’ bed.’”_

_Abby snorts, not even dignifying that with a proper interruption._

_“And then she thought it was funny because I, you know.” Raven gives Abby a meaningful, sidelong look._

_“Oh?” Abby starts, then quickly realizes, “Ohh. Oh.” She’s somewhere beyond needing to demure at the attention, just taking it in._

_“Mmhm. She thinks she’s funny.”_

_Abby’s curiosity finds little to slow its trip to her tongue. “Where do you sleep when I’m here? I mean, yesterday. Since I was here last night.”_

_“I made Clarke share,” Raven says smugly. “Linc and O took the floor.”_

“Embarrassed” seems like an understatement. Abby washes her face after brushing her teeth and still doesn’t feel prepared to face the day, but there’s a light tapping at the door to summon her.

“You okay in there, Abby?” Raven’s voice is muffled by the wood. 

Abby carefully re-hangs the hand towel. “Yes, fine,” she croaks. She clears her throat and glances at the mirror before opening the door. She’s looked worse, certainly. She _could_ look worse.

The way Raven is leaning against the door frame has her level, eye-to-eye with Abby as she emerges. There is nothing different in the way she looks at Abby, but maybe that’s wishful thinking. Or maybe she’s just that good at hiding what she’s thinking.

“Probably another five minutes ’til coffee,” Raven informs her as Abby turns away quickly, making a beeline to the old, familiar shirt draped over a chair near the bed. No matter how hot the embarrassment, her camisole leaves her feeling far too exposed.

“Thank god for coffee,” Abby says. The sentiment comes out more genuine than she had expected. She doesn’t regret it when Raven voices her agreement as well.

Little else is said until they leave the silence of the house with their coffee mugs and make their way across the private boardwalk to the shore and Abby realizes she doesn’t want to sit. She walks to the tide’s edge where her feet leave clear impressions until the water rushes past her heels and pulls the grit away. Whatever sign Raven is looking for, staring at her like that, Abby doesn’t give it.

“How’s the coffee?” the younger woman finally asks.

Abby raises the mug to her lips, but stops short at the heat. She blows across the surface instead. “I’ll give it another minute.”

_They switch from Ms. Nygel’s moonshine to Abby’s wine sometime around sunset. The sounds of music and laughter drift up from outside as Abby empties the last of a bottle into both of their glasses. “So what will you do tomorrow?”_

_“Enjoy tonight,” Raven chuckles, swirling the wine just to watch it spin. “Just... slow down, Abs. You talk everywhere but here and now.”_

_Abby’s eyebrows shoot up and she laughs, but she doesn’t disagree. “I_ talk _everywhere but the here and now, but I am too much in the here and now.”_

_“Can’t you just enjoy it?”_

_“I enjoy it,” Abby says without being argumentative. Her feet are propped on the edge of the bed, and she points her toes to draw the muscles of one leg taut. The stretch feels good. Raven’s appreciative gaze feels better. “I might even enjoy it too much.”_

_When Raven scoffs, Abby continues. “I was married for almost twenty years. I’m not used to enjoying things with anyone... else.” She is matter-of-fact, not melancholy. She’s sure Jake would find all of this terribly amusing. “I’m trying,” she huffs._

_“Thanks.” Raven’s smile is reassuring, but Abby doesn’t need it. She’s detached at this point, watching herself, watching how the charged space between them has been shrinking and growing by increments. Watching with objective fascination as the younger woman shifts from leaning against the headboard to sitting on the edge of the mattress, at Abby’s feet, breaking pattern. The way her own leg twitches and her heart jumps when the edge of a nail ghosts over her ankle._

_There is a question in Raven’s glance, asking what_ that _was, asking if this is okay. Abby takes one last sip of wine and doesn’t look away._

She remembers waking up at some point in the middle of the night, disentangling from the sheets to go to the bathroom, then coming back to tangle legs and fall asleep again. Bare legs and heat and an arm across her middle. Abby frowns at the memory and takes a sip of the still-hot coffee in her hands. She remembers bits and pieces, scattered through the darkening hours, but something must be missing.

She misses that skin-to-skin contact now, a selfish impulse sing-songs.

“It’s good,” Abby says distractedly, so Raven doesn’t have to ask. Cool water ripples at her ankles. She’s looking, but barely sees the peachskin sky, so it’s okay to close her eyes when Raven seems to read her mind and press their shoulders together.

“You want me to go?” the younger woman offers quietly. Not a mind reader, then.

Abby shakes her head minutely and takes another steadying sip of coffee. “This is embarrassing,” she finally admits, her smile weak with self-deprecation and apology.

“What?” Raven chuckles. “This is basically the same as yesterday.”

“No, it’s not.” Abby isn’t even looking at Raven in order to look away, but her gaze skitters further up the horizon line just to be sure. 

Raven’s elbow moves in a subtle nudge. “Because we woke up in the same room this time?”

Abby has to clear her throat to work the words out. “Is that all we did?”

When Raven’s body moves away, Abby is startled into turning around. Whatever she had expected, Raven’s serious expression and careful distance aren’t it, nor is the way she takes the mug from Abby’s hands and sets both of their drinks safely in the sand, out of reach of the waves’ crawl. For a moment, Abby has a flash of fear that she’s remembering it all wrong; that Raven never smoothed her palm so deliberately up the older woman’s shin to her knee, to the top of her thigh, to pause and settle her wandering eyes on Abby’s parted lips and -

And oh god, Abby burns now with shame, hand over her mouth to keep the mortification from stealing the air from her lungs.

She barely feels the warm fingers cupping her face, but they do eventually pull her back to where Raven is speaking, in the blurry present. “Hey, no, Abby, nothing happened. I would never - you were drunk. _I_ was drunk, but I would never take advantage of you or anyone else like that. I’ve seen way too much of that shit.”

Abby blinks back the stinging in her eyes. Something more than the waves rushes in her ears. “You... what?”

Raven’s thumbs rub over Abby’s cheekbones so gently before she drops her hands and takes a step back again. “I grew up around... drugs and alcohol. And a lot of sketchy, skeevy behavior. I’ve got hard and fast rules about consent that I would _never_ break, even if I was totally shitfaced.”

There is tension in the way Raven shifts her weight. Hard lines of nerves and memory that draw Abby out of her own clouded head. “I mean, yeah, I’m attracted to you. Seriously. So attracted. You’re just... amazing. But I poured your drinks. I knew how much you had. You weren’t in a state to make a decision like that.”

_She’d wanted to. She’d gotten away with the kiss, gotten a taste of Raven’s lips and strong, sure grip, and wordless noises that bordered between want and need. She’d gotten to touch and trace the smooth line of Raven’s collarbone and feel the firm press of thighs against her own._

_And she’d gotten to hear Raven’s ragged breathing like music rasping in the air, poured over the inexplicable arc of Raven’s neck as her head tilted back. “This is awful, but. Shit. Not tonight, Abby. I don’t believe in liquid courage.”_

_Abby doesn’t get it, not really; but Raven agrees to stay and Abby has no problem collapsing bonelessly onto the mattress beside her, carried away to unconsciousness in waves of wakefulness, water, and whispers. And that’s good, too. That’s easy - that simple giving in._

“Are you mad?” Raven asks, breaking Abby out of her stunned reverie.

Abby shakes her head mutely. Not “no” - she’s a little mad at herself for overindulging, and in front of Raven, no less - but more dumbfounded at the details. The younger woman doesn’t retreat when Abby approaches, tentatively reaching out to clasp Raven’s hand. 

“Thank you,” Abby mumbles despite the clumsy numbness of her tongue. Raven squeezes her fingers and nods. For a few long moments, minutes, Abby stares down at the way their hands fit together, the scratches on Raven’s knuckles and the tendons of her own wrist. The bumpy gooseflesh on Raven’s forearm when Abby’s free hand fits into the crease of her elbow, holding their bodies together.

“How did you sleep?” Abby asks. Her eyes are on Raven’s profile, the lines that crinkle in the corners of her eyes when she tries to hide the slow curling grin that threatens to break open wide across her face.

“Not bad,” Raven allows, her voice dipping low. “But it’s nothing compared to waking up.”

The last sliver of sun breaks above the sea. Abby soaks in the first full light of day. “Yeah. Let’s definitely do that part again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for sticking through. I know seven chapters in two years is a slow slog for very little by fandom standards, so the fact that you're here at the close means the world to me.
> 
> Special thanks to J for the kofi to handle these last two chapters - incidentally, that was just the right amount for the time it took to write them. To Evandre for definitely not letting me forget about this fic and apocawifing me through it. To Beagles for dealing with the fretting and neurotic writer behind the scenes. To MCM and the original J for patronage. To the original cruise ship and conga line where it all began.


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